


Stray Sun

by Noon30ish



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Familiars, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 19:44:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15848106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noon30ish/pseuds/Noon30ish
Summary: To be born under the same star, as all humans were, meant to be deserving of a sign, a shepherd of light to illuminate the paths between one another. These shepherds, in the form of familiars, were a manifestation of someone’s soul when they made contact with their other half. But as often happened with humans, the shepherds’ advice could fall on deaf or unwilling ears. Sometimes both.





	Stray Sun

**Author's Note:**

> This is my piece I wrote for the YoI LitMag Issue #1: Light. I wrote for the SFW section, but the two additional chapters will be NSFW, just fyi. Enjoy! :)

Of all the ridiculous and insane ways Chris imagined meeting his soulmate— waking up after a drunk one-night stand or grinding on a stranger in a club being two of those ways— it had to happen on the ice. Amid the chaos just after the medal ceremony ended, bronze glaring up from where it lay on his empty chest; it happened then.

Phichit was roping Yuuri, Leo, and others into victory selfies and, still one to please the crowd, Chris seized the opportunity to join them. He was one of the oldest on the ice now, sure, but with Viktor draped around Yuuri, their poodle familiars glowing happily, he still felt that childish urge to participate. People moved around and pressed in, flashing smiles and shifting positions, and soon Chris found himself hunched over Yuuri and Phichit, arms over their shoulders.

Phichit's shoulder had been so warm, radiating a soft light that he and plenty others mistook for the glare of the ice and the glory of the gold. But Chris could feel it— something stirring inside his veins, sending shocks through his nerves, everything— and a hint of color whisked just out of sight at his feet. He ducked out of the next photo and twisted around, trying to search without appearing crazy.

A faint, wispy pink outline faded around the back of Chris's leg. He stepped back and stared at his feet. Transparent and ever-shifting through reality, wise taciturn eyes met his, sharing such intimate knowledge in a simple gaze that Chris let out a gasp under his breath. A cat’s body wavered, fur fluttering like a field of summer wheat even though there was no wind in the rink.

_ Duchess. _ The word seared into his brain like a hot cattle prod, forming an unwelcome headache.

But Chris's senses came to him and he peered around; everyone was still taking photos, glued to their phones. So when his eye caught a small viridian furball at Phichit's feet, Chris hoped for once that the cameras wouldn't be picking him out because it all sort of  _ hit _ and his chest tightened and his hands shook at his sides, unsure of what to do in the eyes of so many.

Duchess darted for the other familiar— Phichit’s familiar— in a heartbeat. The familiar that must have also just appeared.

She was darting for her other half. Chris's other half, too.

Chris felt like he had never been on the ice before, his knees stiff and his feet sliding around like a newborn fawn.

Phichit was his soulmate.

Without much forethought, Chris shot forward and grabbed the two soul familiars, which resulted in a sharp whine and an awkward fumble of hands and gossamer fur flying everywhere, skates scratching and carving erratic lines in the confusion. He stuffed the small green familiar into his sleeve behind his back and hissed Duchess's name, hoping she listened and understood that now was not the time to be visible.

"Chris?" Phichit was eyeing him curiously from above, seeing as Chris was still kneeling right behind him. "What are you doing?"

To say that the position was compromising would have been a truth so great it would send all holy books straight to hell. 

"Hi, there," Chris said as he stood, several bones popping loudly. He milked it for what it was worth as he turned away. "Uh, my knee isn't doing so hot. I think I'll take my leave. Enjoy your gold!"

"Oh." Phichit seemed quite confused, but he was already being pulled into another selfie. "Take care of yourself!" He called over his shoulder.

Chris waved with the arm that didn't have a green creature scratching him skinless.

The edge of the rink was busy with cameras and reporters, coaches and choreographers, and Chris had to excuse himself past every one of them. Uneasy smiles and apologetic gestures were the best he could offer when his heart was already racing ahead to the closest quiet space. Even Karpisek gave him a question in the form of a raised eyebrow, and Chris had to, as politely as he could, disregard his coach's concern. 

He wasn't sure where his familiar—  _ Duchess _ — had gone, but he could only hope that in this mess no one would pay her any mind if she walked by. Glancing behind on his way to the locker room, he couldn't see her anywhere and no one else seemed to be following him either. Good.

Closing the door to the locker room behind him, dampening the cacophonic chaos he had become accustomed to hearing, even thriving in, Chris looked around and sighed in relief when he found he was alone. He dropped the hand holding his sleeve in place and watched the green familiar cautiously peek its head out in the open, nose twitching. It waddled with a light dappling sensation into his palm. 

Out of the corner of his eye, forward movement startled him; his own familiar waltzed right up to them, glowing soft even in the harsh fluorescent light. She eyed the green fluff with a wave of shy optimism flooding Chris's veins through her.

The familiar jumped from Chris's hand and collided with Duchess, squeals echoing off the tile. They tussled amongst themselves about the room, over benches and inside lockers and through shower stalls, emanating joy. 

Rather than separate them, Chris's back hit the cool wall behind him and he let gravity do the rest. His back end fell to the floor with a disbelieving thud. He raked a hand through his hair and, after a moment, began to laugh. The sudden sound alerted the familiars, who now paused and were tip-toeing their way back to him.

Chris prayed to whatever above that no one had seen what transpired— and in the back of his mind almost wished that he hadn't, either. But of course,  _ of course _ , it would happen this way. He would count himself lucky if he was able to talk to Phichit before any rumors began to spread. 

It had to be someone related to his life in some tangential manner, but never had Chris believed that his soulmate would be a fellow skater. And it was the  _ innocent _ one to boot.  It felt like some curse. What once he prided as his profound approach to the ice now painted him dangerously promiscuous.

Even if Phichit liked those with Chris's particular reputation, Chris couldn’t keep up that persona forever.

He could fake it, but then he wouldn't be himself, would he? Phichit didn't deserve that. No one did. And having word that your soulmate was an oversexualized playboy would spell trouble for Phichit's image, too. It wasn't just about Chris.

There was a comforting weight on Chris's lap, and two pairs of ethereal eyes looked at him. Duchess was purring, paws settling together with her tail covering them when she lay down completely. The hamster was on her back, snuggled right in between her shoulders. 

“Duchess, huh?” Chris thought aloud, reaching out to pet her like one would when meeting a newborn for the first time; hesitant, careful.

She promptly nipped at his hand.

“‘Spoiled Princess’ is more like it,” Chris retorted, snatching his hand back. He knew soul familiars could be given names, but he had never been sure exactly how— well, until now, of course.  _ He _ certainly wouldn’t have named her that.

The green soul familiar looked up when their other half’s name was said, and Chris tried to pet that one, too. This one was much nicer, leaning into the touch with tender affection. 

Chris’s lips softened into a smile. “I wonder what Phichit will name you…”

There was no answer from either of them. Their auras complimented each other in peaceful resonance as Chris contemplated just how he was going to bring this up to someone he barely knew.

If Phichit had been a stranger, Chris convinced himself that this would have been easier.

Voices grew louder and footsteps wound closer, making Chris bolt upright. The souls scrambled and scattered. 

Chris swore under his breath. "Duchess," he hissed, watching that pink tail disappear inside a duffle bag. "Duchess!"

The door opened.

_ Duchess!  _ Chris snapped.

"Hey, Chris! How's your knee?"

Chris turned to see Phichit, Yuuri, Leo, and Guang Hong enter the locker room, adorned with toys, charms, and hastily thrown flower petals. There was a small bouquet of red roses in Phichit's hands.

"Ah, it'll hold 'til the end of the season," Chris said with a shrug. A mass filled the canyon of his pounding chest and curled around tight, forming a seal inside him. He hoped it was Duchess. He didn't know about the hamster, but he wouldn't bring the issue up around so many others, not if he didn't have to.

"Dang, I was hoping for an easy lead in the competition— kidding," Phichit joked with a dazzling smile. "These are for you, by the way. Some fans asked if I'd bring them to you. Don't know why they’d ask me, though."

Chris took the proffered roses, eyelids heavy as he indulged in the fragrance. "Thank you."

Phichit may have watched him for a split second too long before Leo pulled him away for something. The room was loud with guys laughing and chasing each other around, the pressure to win now absent. Chris took his cue to change, pack up, and leave, not bothering to find out if Phichit was paying attention. He'd find a different way, a different time. At the banquet, maybe. 

* * *

In retrospect, waiting might have been the worst mistake that Chris had ever made.

The only thing Phichit talked about to anyone that would listen— and plenty that didn't— was the soul familiar he had mysteriously gained between the medal ceremony and the banquet.

He had named her Poppi.

With the excitement of the familiar so intense for Phichit, Chris couldn't find a point in time where he wasn't surrounded by someone or talking too animatedly to interrupt. It was kind of cute, Chris thought with a small smile on his lips. He would rather let Phichit enjoy himself than drag him into a conversation like that.

But Chris knew better. He should have stopped Phichit, taken him out of the banquet hall, but something Phichit said gave him pause.

_ I can't believe I have a soulmate _ — _ god I haven't planned my wedding nearly enough. _

Wedding. Phichit was already thinking of  _ marriage.  _

Chris downed the rest of his champagne and cut his losses for the night.

The next morning, he followed Phichit's Instagram. He had the DMs open, and left them like that until the screen went black, reflecting his face at the wrong angle as the plane began to take off.

After winning gold in Bordeaux, Chris congratulated himself with maybe a few more flutes of wine than he intended.

And then a few more at the bar after hours.

And perhaps there was an empty shot glass with residue of tequila discarded on the hotel room's counter, just around the corner from the stranger’s bed he shared that night.

Perhaps, when Chris woke up, his heart was empty and his soul was whining and pining, heartbroken in the corner. Her color and form had faded, all but wisps of loneliness. Chris sat alone in his bed that morning, willing her closer and petting her with long, lethargic strokes. Even her purring felt like torture. Without the energy to nip at him, Duchess seemed like she was dying.

Chris understood. He had torn her away from her other half.

Phichit was looking for more, but Chris wasn't sure that he could say the same. Commitment was carved into the ice, solitary companionship etched into the walls and dinged into the corners of an old rink, scuffed into boots. It wasn't ever with another person.

In truth, Chris liked the idea of a soulmate, of learning another person so wholly as if they were one in the same; of an intimacy so pure. He wanted to know, and in due time to hold and to cherish, but he also knew not all soulmates worked out.

Life happened to everyone. With Phichit nearing his prime and Chris— regrettably— sure he passed his, there was almost too much time between them. Too much to move so fast, and yet, if he retired, he knew he would never have enough time to ever begin with Phichit.

Chris swore off all sleeping around and promised to come clean in Barcelona.

Which, as he really should have anticipated, didn’t go as planned. Waiting longer only proved himself a coward, wanting the timing to be right and the explanation to be as easy as possible; none of which had been nor would ever be feasible.

Chris arrived in Barcelona by train the day before Phichit showed up. He knew when Phichit arrived because Duchess was pacing around the hotel room, her tail twitching irately and her claws tearing up invisible fibers here and there along the rugs, pillows, blankets. Her mews were desperate, incessant, and the guilt had Chris unsteady on his legs, making enjoying the sites and drinks of Barcelona quite difficult.

He had Phichit’s Instagram DM open, ready to just grow a pair and  _ plan something _ , for god’s sake, even if it meant treating it like a secretary scheduling their boss. But then Victor’s string of excitable texts came through and he found himself walking toward a café for an impromptu dinner with “us” as Victor had put it.

As it turned out, Chris wouldn’t have to text Phichit about it at all—

“Hey, Chris! You made it!” Phichit himself waved Chris over— as did Poppi who sat on her stubby hind legs— patting the seat next to him; the only seat left.

Chris waved back. “Glad I didn’t  _ come _ too late.”

Phichit and Yuuri looked like they wanted to groan, struggling to keep their faces even. Poppi only tilted her head to the side in naïve curiosity. Chris couldn’t help chuckling.

He sat and joined in on the conversation, introducing himself to a woman named Minako who seemed all too eager to meet him and another Yuuri introduced as his sister, Mari. Chris supposed he could see the family resemblance. Mari was fawning over all of them (especially Yuri Plisetsky, he noted) about as intense as Yuuri’s star struck gaze around Viktor.

Of course,  _ their  _ familiars, of blue and purple hue, sat in patient harmony, visible to the whole world.

So effortlessly in love.

Everything was fine, at first. They ordered, they chatted, they waited. When the food came around, everyone helped the waitress place their meals around the crowded table. Chris could relax.

Until Duchess began to strut underneath the table, out of view but certainly not out of mind. She purred, fur flowing along his pant leg, bristling when he lightly pushed her away. 

It didn’t help when Duchess hissed, either. Thankfully, Minako had been laughing at something he said, and it appeared that no one heard the familiar.

No one except Poppi, who scurried under the table, causing Chris’s heart to leap out of his chest. He felt them bump into his legs as they circled about each other, knocking and cuddling and brawling and snuggling with eternal warmth pulsating between them. Chris’s guilt rose above that of his heartbeat, snaking around his throat. He took a sip of his drink and let his right hand fall beneath the table, waving away the familiars.

Separating them again would be painful, Chris knew, but he didn’t want Phichit to find out  _ now _ , not in front of their friends. The familiars continued to frolic, bouncing between pant legs and hopping over boots.

Chris wasn’t sure that he fancied dying young, so he swatted at them again.

His hand connected with something solid and electricity jolted all the way up his arm. He took a long sip of his drink, checking to see if Phichit noticed without looking too shameful. But judging by the early sunset blooming on Phichit’s cheeks, long after the sun had gone down and in the glow of yellow paper lanterns— oh, Phichit knew.

Phichit turned to him suddenly, causing Chris to choke on the last sip of his drink. “You okay?”

Chris wiped his mouth with his sleeve and coughed. “Yeah?”

“Oh, uh, you brushed my arm,” Phichit explained. “I didn’t know if you wanted my attention.”

Chris shook his head. “Sorry.”

Phichit’s dark eyes gave Chris the impression that he wasn’t convinced, but he returned his gaze toward Yuuri, who started to speak up.

“At last year’s Final, I was always by myself, even at the banquet,” Yuuri paused, looking fondly into his drink, “I couldn’t even talk to Viktor.”

Chris’s eyebrows shot as high as Viktor’s drink spewed far across the table; it was like a loose iron wheel fell off a cart, spilling goods among the dirt. Even the familiars froze in place, much to Chris’s relief.

“Yuuri,” Viktor looked—well, hurt and a little peeved, in all honesty, “you don’t remember?”

Lending a hand, Chris was happy to redirect attention away from what was happening at his feet. “Yuuri, you got drunk on champagne and started dancing, everybody saw it.”

Phichit’s jaw dropped, eyes begging even before his mouth could form the words to ask. Yuuri, disastrously taken aback, cupped his own cheeks and his eyes stared somewhere far off. Mari’s eyebrows were scrunched tight in accusatory confusion and Minako’s skyrocketed through the patio awning.

“I still have videos of what happened,” Viktor chirped up, and if that can of worms was going to be opened, Chris would gladly rip off the rest of the lid.

“I do too.” Chris had his phone’s gallery open to the Sochi banquet photos and, like a moth to a flame, Phichit snatched it up.

Chris felt like a teenager, the way he felt the blush grow the longer that Phichit’s fingers wrapped around his own. He hated it but oh— his blood ran faster, nearly bursting from the confines of his veins.

Phichit was entirely oblivious, still engrossed in Chris’s phone. “Yuuri! That’s so dirty!”

Minako crowded up behind Chris, asking to look for herself, and Phichit was distracted by a sharp chirp that sounded peculiarly like a hamster paw getting accidentally squished by Minako’s boot. His eyes left the phone and he was leaning in between their chairs, snickering with worry for Poppi.

Panicking, Chris picked the first thing he saw. “What’s with the rings, you two?”

And, because Phichit was a reliable and predictable friend, his head snapped over to Yuuri’s and Viktor’s hands. A moment passed before it registered on Phichit’s face, whites of his eyes growing to the size of mini planets.

“CONGRATS ON YOUR MARRIAGE!!!” Phichit shouted, clapping with infectious enthusiasm before turning toward the rest of the restaurant. “Everyone! My good friend here got married!”

Every person, from the toddler in the corner to the old waitress with a tired smile, clapped at the drop of a hat. Phichit swiveled back around and clapped even harder, something Chris didn’t think was possible but didn’t take for granted either, glancing under the table to get an idea of where Duchess and Poppi went.

Yuuri was quick to attempt to quiet Phichit, which didn’t work at all. Phichit was back to asking for Chris’s phone and, not ashamed and eager to distract Phichit further, Chris handed it over.

“Gosh, I can’t wait to plan their wedding,” Phichit muttered distractedly. “It won’t be anything like the one I’ve got planned, of course, but it’s still going to be amazing.”

“You’ve planned it alrea—?”

“We’ll get married once he wins the gold medal!” Viktor spoke with a friendly, challenging tone.

“V-Viktor!” Yuuri stammered.

Things went silent, tension bristling its quills that jutted out in spokes, and Chris could hear a fork drop from another table and clatter to the cobbled floor. But the only thing worse than a broken cart was the wolf that came in to revel in the spoils of misfortune.

“Wait just a minute!” JJ shouted as he burst onto the scene, fiance in tow.

JJ entering left a sour taste upon the already thick atmosphere, and in silent agreement, the party stood and exited the restaurant patio. Viktor was attached to Yuuri’s side, and Chris had a hunch that they were about to have a long, complicated, hopefully happy-ending night. He smirked to himself.

Chris dug into his pocket to check his phone for the time before he realized that Phichit was still flipping through pictures and videos, even though by now he could tell Phichit had passed by all the ones containing Yuuri and had moved onto the ones Chris had someone else take of him. Which, by comparison, were even less modest than Yuuri’s.

Phichit met his gaze, realizing he got caught. “Hey…”

“I’d say take a picture since it would last longer, but that’s kind of what they already are,” Chris pointed out, grin cheeky.

Phichit’s blush returned but it was quickly blinded by a devious smile brighter than the sun. “You’ve got more, don’t you?”

The question threw Chris off guard. More pictures of himself? Surely. His natural response was all he could formulate under pressure, so he went with it. “Of course I’ve got more,” he said, winking in suggestion.

“Oh my god.” Phichit’s entire body perked up, as did Poppi, who appeared on his shoulder. She seemed put out until she caught wind of Phichit’s excitement, mimicking his posture. “Would… would you wanna continue this in my room? I gotta see all of this for myself,” he said with some sort of gesture in Chris’s direction.

Something in the back of Chris’s head told him that this wasn’t how he should bring up the conversation, but Phichit was walking by his side and they were close together and Chris could  _ smell _ whatever delightful cologne Phichit had on his body and the lights glistened off the sweat of his neck just visible beyond his scarf—

“You’re interested?” Chris blurted out, not quite sure how to deal with Phichit’s forwardness.

Those lips— drinking in the air between them, sucking the very resolve Chris had built up for weeks— parted in an unfair invitation. “Sure!”

Soulmates or not, Chris hadn’t had proper fun in weeks and he could feel desire stirring beneath the belt. Phichit grabbed his hand and led the way back to the hotel, up the stairs, and into his room, never once slowing down in pace.

Chris hadn’t felt this nervous since the night he lost his virginity, so perhaps soulmates were a big deal for him after all. Except, even though he knew what he was doing, Chris couldn’t shake the thought that had a hold on his every fiber:  _ just tell him! _

Once inside, the door shut and locked, Phichit made a beeline for the bed, Chris’s phone still taken hostage. Shifting light from the video he started playing cast moving shadows over his features, and as Chris joined him, city lights framed stars in Phichit’s midnight hair like a celestial halo. But the mischievous look that shone in his dark eyes suggested that there were horns hiding underneath. Chris would be lying if he said he didn’t find it disarmingly attractive.

Initially, Chris set a respectable but close distance, testing the atmosphere, but it was like Phichit was pulling him in, and Poppi made a small squeak in invitation, sitting on Phichit’s lap. Chris shifted over the bed sheets until they were almost touching, tentative heat radiating from where their bodies lined up; thighs by thighs, hips by hips, and arms tantalizingly glancing. Phichit continued to be captivated by the video, and Chris hoped the tinny droning would drown out the blood pounding in his ears.

So near, Chris could see all the tiny details that created Phichit, things he had never taken notice of before. His long butterfly lashes that feathered over warm cheeks, his dark lips that glimmered pink, the light sheen of sweat that glided over his rich skin— Phichit was beautiful.

More than beautiful, really, because Chris knew beautiful people. Phichit had a quality about him that made Chris’s breath uneven, and Phichit was blissfully unaware of the effect he had.

_ And possibly I like the thrill of under me you quite so new. _

Phichit smelled of faint cologne and subtle salts from the sea, an aphrodisiac if Chris had ever known one. He leaned in almost without realizing, his hand ghosting behind Phichit and barely whispering against the denim that clung nicely to Phichit’s butt. The touch was magnetic as Phichit leaned into Chris as well, body lining up; perfect. Chris’s mouth went dry as he imagined his lips latching onto Phichit’s neck, just a short distance away. All he would have to do is crane his neck down…

The video Phichit was watching ended.

“Is there more?” Phichit asked, turning his head to face Chris, their noses suddenly brushing. His eyes went wide.

Anxious culmination burst in Chris’s chest, anticipation making him lick his lips and swallow his pride.

“ _ I’m right here _ .”

His voice was low, confident, as the space between their lips disappeared and his other hand caressed a cashmere-smooth cheek.

Chris had missed the searing hot sensation of another person’s lips, hesitantly pliant against his own. He kept still, committing the feeling to memory, and only pressed further when he yearned for the tang of deeper desire that would begin with their tongues and travel through every vein before settling deep in his gut.

That was when Chris felt a hand firm on his chest, pushing him away. Not one to cross a line, Chris peeled them apart and opened his eyes.

Phichit scrambled back, the whites of his eyes stark against the dim room, arm braced. “Chris? Wh-what was that?”

Chris blinked. “A kiss. I thought you—”

“Oh my god,” Phichit interrupted, “you thought I was inviting you to my room for— oh my god. No, that’s not— I’m so sorry, that’s not what I intended.” He saw that his hand was still planted on Chris’s chest and withdrew like he had just touched a hot stove.

Chris bit his lip, pretending that didn’t hurt. “No, it’s my fault. I should have asked to make sure.”

“No, no, you did! I just—” Phichit ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath. “I’m waiting for my soulmate. I know, it’s dumb and cliché, but…” he looked down, where Poppi still lay, now startled.

_ It’s me, _ Chris wanted to say.  _ I’m your soulmate, _ his mind urged, sealing a fate Chris continued to be daunted by, his entire body as frozen as the ice beneath his skates.

“I understand,” Chris said instead, distancing, dissociating, “I guess I just assumed, I’m sorry.”

Phichit gave him a strange look. “You assumed that I would fool around with someone, knowing full well I had a soulmate? I mean, who does that?”

Both Chris and Duchess, embedded deep within him, believed that he deserved the sting. He was sure there were now claw marks on his heart. If he said anything now—  _ let’s get married _ rang in his head like giant church bells that hung from fraying ropes, and they were surely meant to fall on him. 

He retreated. “Like I said, I’m sorry.”

Phichit’s eyes flitted over Chris, judging, before Poppi leapt out of his lap and hid somewhere under the bed, whimpering. “I think you should leave now,” he said with a voice of cold, scalding fire.

Chris couldn’t argue, the situation now too tense, too awkward to alleviate. Phichit had turned away from him but Chris nodded anyway, standing up and heading for the door.

Hand on the handle, door about to close behind him, Chris glanced over his shoulder to see Phichit’s eyes downcast and watering. Chris sucked in a breath to part with some sort of goodnight, but his mouth wouldn’t form the words, so he left without looking back again.

* * *

Chris rested his forearm on the shower wall and leaned his head into the crook, eyebrows scrunched tight as the hot water paraded over his skin. His eyes stung, his breath ragged.

He messed up— with his  _ soulmate. _

He should have known better, not to jump in like that. Thinking back on it, he should have come clean, like he planned, then and there.  _ Idiot. _

The hole in his chest, a crater settling with dust, reminded Chris that even his soul had left his side. She was probably out sulking, grooming her fading pink outline with a graying tongue. Drying off, Chris let the towel rest on his head like a scarf, droplets still clinging to his hair. He stared in the mirror and chastised himself silently, rubbing at his under eyes that were sure to be dark bags come the morning. A low groan escaped as he frowned. Destined to be alone even before he retires, it seemed.

The room was cold, a desolate desert in the night when the sun strayed from its path for the day. Duchess lay on the bed, up by the pillows, nestled between them and the headboard. She vibrated with a low purr, a spot of flushed peonies amidst the barren garden, with small specks of lush grass—

Chris inched closer, narrowing his eyes before realizing there were not one, but two souls on his bed. And neither were with the person Chris left without closure.

“Poppi?” Chris whispered— for once with the real fear that she might disappear if he wasn’t careful.

Both heads peered up and Duchess took charge, circling the little green hamster with a defensive arch in her back.

“Duchess,” Chris softened, “you know Poppi needs to stay with Phichit.” His name already fell bittersweet off his lips. A lump began to form in his throat before he could say more, watching Poppi smooth Duchess’s riled fur with nothing short of unending affection. There were tears like star drops deep in the atmosphere of their eyes as they curled further into each other, colors brighter than they had ever been before.

Chris’s shoulders drooped. “C’mon, let’s go. Both of you.”

Neither budged, only letting the tears finally fall in a plea to spare their reunion.

They had found each other, finally,  _ finally _ , two halves of the same star meant to guide until they could collide. Having done their job, things were supposed to be happy.

And so, Chris found himself at an impasse.

Tell Phichit and let the cards fall where they may. Let Phichit realize Chris wasn’t who everybody thought he was. Maybe Phichit would still want to try. Maybe not.

Or, give Phichit time to know him first, see if they have a chance of getting together before pulling the soulmate card. The problem there was just the same brick wall that Chris was ineffectually kicking: Phichit wanted to know  _ now _ and had planned that specific future accordingly.

And control was never easy for Chris to give up.

Chris made his decision, rummaging through the bedside drawer for the stationary pad and a pen, his towel falling off in his rush. He couldn’t be bothered to pick it up. The familiars looked on, ears perked, but otherwise remained a blurred, celestial heap. He wrote and wrote and rewrote, scribbling and scratching out, grimacing when he thought it sounded wrong. 

The clock read long past two in the morning when he finally finished, hand sore and cramped and mind exhausted. Duchess gave him a concerned look, but Chris ignored it. Things would be easier that way.

Duchess seemed to understand, her mew echoing sadly in the silent room. Chris pat her in resignation, smoothing over her fur, and put the folded letter to her mouth. She took it gingerly and rubbed along his hand one last time, from whiskers to the last wisps of her tail.

“Keep each other happy,” Chris instructed, voice ready to crack, “and watch out for Phichit, okay?”

Poppi, sensing that she was going back to her human, nudged Duchess in the direction of the door. After a long look at Chris, Duchess conceded, following the other out the door and disappearing. Forever.

This Grand Prix Final was going to be the hardest of Chris’s life.

* * *

_ To Phichit, _

_ This is my familiar. Her name is Duchess. I sent her to you with the kindest regards, requesting a favor. _

_ As I could not stand the sight of Duchess looking so forlorn, I leave her in your care so that they will be happy. They know each other well now and I— I barely know you at all. _

_ So please, take your time and live your life. Let love come naturally. In due time, if love is requited, I will tell you. _

_ Your Soulmate xo _

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know via kudos, comments, or [asks on my Tumblr](https://noon30ish.tumblr.com/ask) if you liked it and what you think!


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